


Thought You'd Never Consider

by shroomdeer



Series: Heartbreak [2]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Affairs, Aged-Up Character(s), Cheating, Depression, F/M, Heartbreak, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Original Character(s), Unplanned Pregnancy, Vomiting, do not copy to another site, post-breakup depression, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28614384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shroomdeer/pseuds/shroomdeer
Summary: Killua is hosting a Christmas get-together with friends and co-workers, and sends an invitation to Gon. Gon mulls it over, aware of his treatment of Killua almost two years prior, and is hesitant to take the offer. When he finds out his girlfriend of four months, Jessie, is pregnant with someone else’s child, he decides to drive to the party at a last minute decision to see Killua, not knowing what to do, and feeling like his world is falling apart once more.
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs/OC
Series: Heartbreak [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2096736
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	Thought You'd Never Consider

“Jessie?”

Gon leans out into the hallway, brow puckered, soapy water dripping from his marigold gloves onto the linoleum. Jessie had been gone for quite some time, and only to go to the restroom. Originally he hadn’t thought much of it, but it’s unusual to hear retching noises coming from within his room. Gon can’t help worrying.

Peeling off the gloves and flinging them onto the draining board, Gon pads down through the passage and peers into the open gap to his bedroom. The bathroom is shut tight.

“You okay, Jess?” He knocks.

A spluttering cough erupts from inside, a groan and a whimper following suit. He hears the clap of the toilet lid, the shifting of the seat and the jingle of the button before the flush ends the chain of sounds. There’s no response for a moment, but just a moment.

“I-I’m fine, Gon! Just...ate something bad last night. I’ll be out in a minute, don’t worry.”

A frown twitches at the corners of Gon’s lips. Her tone is unnerving but he won’t question it, it could be just that, bad food. He lingers, listening to her presumably washing her face. Could it have been the lunch he’d prepared? Sure, he’s not a pro cook but it’s not as if the things he makes are poisonous; Killua used to down it all in one go and would be completely fine afterwards without a complaint about quality. Jessie mentioned she’d been feeling under the weather, but insisted it was only a stomach bug.

He’ll have to clean up when she’s gone.

* * *

**4 Weeks Earlier**

It’s not often he gets mail, not with Killua’s handwriting on it, at least.

Gon lets himself through the front door, nudges it shut with his hip and sinks into the couch, envelope in hand, rotating it back and forth. He can’t evade the small tickle in his stomach as he traces the crisp edge with his thumb, dipping into the fold and tearing open the brown paper.

He pulls out a Christmas card. Quietly he admires the minimalist illustration of a robin on the front cover, perched on a snow covered branch. Then opens the contents, not ready for the slip of paper that flutters out and onto the floor, which he reaches to pick up after slowly reading the card’s message.

_Gon,_

_Merry Christmas._

_I thought I’d leave this in here. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, of course. It’d be good to see you. Say hi to Mito for me when you call her._

_Killua_ _x_

  
  


It’s that time of year again. It scares him how quickly time passes, it feels like only yesterday that he went to see Killua to try and patch things up.

But that was nearly two years ago.

Things have changed. Lots of things have happened all without Killua being here. Jessie, for example. His new job as a fitness trainer. His client, Retz, who won’t stop complaining about her morning sickness and chaotic mood swings (who also insists on exercising despite her bun in the oven). Despite being a soon-to-be single mother, she’s pretty determined to be a good one.

“What’s that you got?” Jessie swings into the living room, her cheeks rose-tinted. All dolled up for her girls’ night out; her hazel eyes bordered by thick, black eyeliner and hollowed out by the burnt sienna of her eyeshadow, making her eyes a little bigger, her sockets deeper against the white of her face. He blinks after her, smiles, and shrugs.

“A card from one of my aunt’s friends.”

He tucks the paper back into the card, slips them back into the envelope and leaves it in the fruit bowl where they keep keys and business cards, standing to see Jessie off at the door. Gon kisses her cheek as she leans in, a wash of rose petal-scented perfume wafting up his nose. It’s a comforting scent; his room must be permeated with the stuff by now. He barely stops himself from sneezing.

“Don’t have too much fun without me,” Jessie teases, poking the tip of Gon’s nose. 

For maybe a moment her eyes soften, a sombre hue that Gon distinctly finds strange, and she tucks a stray black hair behind Gon’s ear, with that featherlight touch of hers - almost nonexistent. She turns and carefully descends the steps, swinging through the picket gate and disappearing into her little yellow car, the front lights like large bug eyes. He admires the fresh shine in her rich, brown wisps of hair before the door clicks shut, the engine jumping into a growl, the clutch grinding and the tarmac crinkling as the vehicle turns out into the empty road, vanishing around the corner.

Gon eyes the envelope.

With some encouragement, he steps over to the coffee table and tugs out the card once more to take a look at the paper inside. An invitation to a Christmas party on the 24th December, at Palm’s house (a good pick, she has a lot of class and aesthetic taste for verandas and fairy lights).

Killua’s too good to him even when he shouldn’t be. Gon knows that very well, a lot more than when Mito fell ill. Yeah, they’ve spoken casually since, but both agreed to take some time off from each other. It was Gon’s suggestion, actually. He had things to work on. But when he moved back home that seemed to be the temporary end to their correspondences.

After how Gon treated him, Killua is still compassionate, even on paper.

He understands the hurt he caused Killua, Gon doesn’t trust himself with the subject of his ex-boyfriend anymore, not around Jessie anyway. It was best never to bring up Killua at all, right from the get go.

So, he leaves the invitation in the fruit bowl and pegs the card up on the chain of other Christmas cards, draped from the nail in the wall.

* * *

**NOW**

Finding a pregnancy test box in the trash on a Friday evening isn’t how Gon was planning to spend his weekend. Especially when Jessie is here to stay until she leaves for work on Monday. If she even goes to work at all on a Monday morning.

He happened to be taking out the trash for collection when said box stuck out to his eye, poking out next to a can of sweetcorn as he yanked the bag out the bin about to tie it up and double-knot it. Gon, being Gon, hadn’t known what to make of it at first. Naturally. He stared at it poker-faced, then reached in, careful to evade the leftover bean smears from dinner, and took it out. Rotating the packaging with some mild interest and dread he’d rather not confront in that moment. There was no test inside, but he wouldn’t have needed the stick for the thought to jut out against the grey of his thoughts, the box was able to do that all by itself.

 _Whose is this?_ Is the first question that popped to mind.

Though, it’s not like they have people round frequently; himself and Jessie are busy with work, Gon with his fitness-junkie clients and Jessie with her bartending. If he thinks hard enough, he can recall Sophia dropping by with some flowers and a ‘get well’ card for Jessie, but that’s about it for visitors.

And he doesn’t even want to think about it belonging to Jessie.

He’ll ask her. But...he’ll observe her first to rule out the possibility.

Just in case.

It’s on his mind for the rest of the night and apparently decides to stay there until rewarded with an answer. Which isn’t preferable when he sits flicking through the channels, milkshake in hand, waiting for his girlfriend to show her face from a bathroom break. There aren’t many good movies tonight, huh. Generally aren’t on a Friday. So much for distracting himself.

Eventually, Jessie reappears next to him, slumping down and sighing, appearing to melt into the cushions. Her head lands on his shoulder and Gon can’t stop from flinching. How does he bring this up? It’s not something so casual to just pull out of his ass. It’s delicate. He’s been around women long enough to know what and what not to ask. Their age, for example, though he doesn’t understand why that’s apparently offensive.

And, well, he wants his suspicions to be wrong.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, sinking back to accommodate her head. His growth spurt had surprised almost everybody, considering how much of a short stack Ging was. Even Jessie only manages to stand up to his shoulders. It was the fact that he was a gentle giant that had apparently charmed Jessie - his personality was a bonus.

She lets out a frustrated sigh. “Horrible. I bet it was that curry we had at that restaurant.”

“It’s been a while since we went. You sure it’s not a stomach bug? I’ll go down to the doctor’s with you if that’s gonna—”

Jessie, however, groans before he can finish his sentence. “I hate going there. It’ll flush itself out sooner or later, don’t worry.” She smiles but it’s tight, a facade.

He’ll give it time.

Jessie’s sickness doesn’t let up in the following days. Her mood has taken a turn for the worse; she’ll sleep completely still (if she sleeps at all) during the night, and sprawl herself across the couch in the day (granted sick leave), flicking through the channels with crumbs littering her shirt from snacking, even though Gon voices his concerns for her savoury tongue.

He knows why. All these quiet observations have merely led him to the final belief that Jessie is pregnant.

Albeit not with his baby.

Retz confirmed his niggling guess soon after the concern surfaced, over a cup of tea at The Quiet Corner Cafe. He asked about the side effects of pregnancy and what Retz had to endure within the first few months. Turns out Jessie ticked all the right boxes. 

The topic of the bedroom was discussed from the very beginning - Gon wasn’t comfortable going that far and wanted to take things slow. Killua was still raw in the back of his head at the time—still is, a little—and didn’t want to leap into anything _too_ serious. He’s been generous allowing her to stay in the flat for the majority of the time (whenever she wants the company, really).

So naturally that would make him believe it’s not his, only someone else’s. That someone else, Gon doesn’t know. He doesn’t know Jessie’s friends, and frankly they’ve never voiced any interest in hanging out with him. That never bothered him, he could get along with the friends he already had.

Being able to deal with it is another story. He’s shocked of course, and there’s a plethora of other unknown feelings that threaten to seep into his poker faces.

The nausea has apparently gotten so bad that Jessie says she’s going to stay with her mom for a while, as she doesn’t want to “contaminate” Gon with whatever she has. Though there’s nothing to contaminate him _with_ except for a truck-load of emotions he doesn’t want to confront.

As she’s packing her bag, Gon stands in the doorway to his room, watching her. He fiddles with the box in one hand that hangs limp at his side, wondering what words to push out. Because, really, how on earth do you confront your girlfriend of cheating? At the cusp of her leaving and getting away with it.

“I found this in the trash a few days ago,” he says and lifts the box when he has her attention. Her face changes to a completely different colour; flush-crimson to sheet-white, each gradient version of red dissipating in a matter of seconds. Gon is oddly calm for the moment.

“I didn’t want to assume anything, so I thought you must have bought it for a friend and happened to leave this in your bag, or something.” Gon casts his eyes down to the object, rotating it, folding it flat. “Is it yours?”

Jessie is completely wordless, the edges of a sound trying to shape itself on her tongue crackling at the back of her throat. The question appears to clog up her throat and robs her of her ability to form sentences with those dry, cracked lips. Well, there’s his answer.

“Gon, I—”

“Who is it?”

Slowly, she manoeuvres to sit on the bed, shoulders slumping. Jessie’s not a very good liar, that much they have in common. They’ve been dating for just over four months, he can already spot the signs; they stick out like a sore thumb.

“A guy from work,” she croaks. “It was only one time, I swear—I didn’t mean it.” Swathes of tears gather and clump in her eyes, so thick that they fall down her colourless cheeks like heavy raindrops.

Gon moves to lean against the doorframe, the support stabilises and keeps his body tethered to the ground, to keep him from floating into space. Blowing up is the last thing that needs to happen right now. He can’t ignore it, however; the wicked heat turning and tossing in his gut like white fire, seething and vengeful, sinking its claws into his organs as if trying to climb up into the rungs of his esophagus, squeeze between his lungs. A demon attempting to sprout wings.

“Are you keeping it?”

Jessie nods. She clamps a hand over her mouth to soften a ragged sob. Whether she’s really sorry for it, Gon’s unsure. He’d _like_ to think so. But otherwise, if she was sorry then she would never have sold herself for a quick five minutes in the back of the bar (that’s as creative as his brain’s going to get). And, god, that’s not an image Gon wants to see. He pleads for his brain to keep those visuals from his eyes for a little longer, but they’re roaring and crashing into his thoughts like wild ocean waves, anonymous hands open wide and raking into Jessie’s back; a warm, wet mouth leaving trails of saliva all over her shoulders; biting her lips; pushing her against a random wall, uncaring for disruption. _Stop it._

Gon’s breath thins out. This isn’t good, any moment now the fires from inside will run rampant around his home and destroy everything.

“Please get out,” he rasps, turning, a dark shadow hanging from his brow. “And don’t come back.”

Killua’s invitation is still there in the fruit bowl when he sits on the couch, waiting for her to leave.

* * *

He’s unsure why he’s standing outside the house of the man Jessie has been sleeping with. One minute, Gon was standing dazed in the street opposite the bar she worked at, and next he’s here, about an inch away from pushing his way through the front door and doing something radical. He followed her here, knowing at some point or another she’d have to get impatient with Gon refusing her calls, and end up going to see her other lover.

Well, they’re inside, and he’s here now. He could walk through and beat the living shit out of the guy and leave without batting a single eyelash.

 _What would I gain from that?_ Gon can’t help but ask himself.

Nothing, really. Only a small sense of justice. He’d be leaving a man with a caved-in face, and he himself facing charges of assault. What good would come of that? What would _Killua_ say? Knowing him, he’d just about do the same probably, but it would be a revenge nobody would be able to provide evidence to. The type of revenge that sleeps underneath the skin, the layers of reality everyone sees through. It’d be sly, quiet and quick, and he’d get away without a single accusation on his shoulders.

_Shit._

The rate at which Gon falls back down to sanity leaves him dizzy, shocked by his own desires. He really considered bursting into the house and causing somebody harm, _serious_ harm. _What am I doing? What’s wrong with me?_

This, he realises, was how he felt when Killua confessed to finding ‘solace’ in someone else’s arms. Or bed, rather. The feeling of not being good enough.

Without really thinking it, feeling sick to his stomach, Gon pivots sharply on the balls of his foot and takes off. He doesn’t care where he ends up, doesn’t care if people stop and stare, wondering why someone would be murder-sprinting at 4:45pm. Gon can’t quite get a grip on it, either. He just runs - as fast as he can, pushing himself harder than he ever has; until he can taste blood. Until he feels his lungs burn and his stomach clench and his muscles cry.

Not knowing how far he’d possibly ran, Gon eventually stops as he reaches the flat, crashing against the door, fumbling with his key to yank down the handle and stagger inside, as he hunches over and hurls, crystals glistening in his eyes, retching the remains of lunch until it’s a messy pile of bile on the doormat at his feet, splashes of it hiking up his jeans. Gon’s throat is seething with pain, red and raw. It hurts to breathe, his lungs beyond empty.

He leans against the door, coughing and gagging, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. That needs to be cleaned up eventually, but not right now. Gon’s body aches and throbs. It’s a miracle that he manages to pry off his shoes on the way to his room, falling into his unmade bed sheets, curling into the smell of himself and Jessie, rasping for breath as a sob takes him.

* * *

The invitation has been waiting in the fruit bowl.

Gon sees it from time to time when he pads by, another tub of ice cream hanging from his calloused fingertips. Be reminded that he’s wanted somewhere on Christmas Eve, if he ever so wants to take up the offer.

It’s that time already, though it feels to Gon like it’s been too long a wait. Wait for what, to see Killua? _After what you did?_ He won’t lie, this invitation has been floating around his brain living rent-free ever since it slipped out of Killua’s Christmas card. A burden, almost. There’s no excuse for him to refuse, it’s what he wants deep down. There _had_ been arrangements to fly back home to celebrate with Mito and her new partner, Dan (a wildlife conservationist, would you believe).

It’d be a bit of a shock for him to show up, having not shaved or showered in a week. What would Mito say if she saw him like this? Probably take a slipper off her foot and clonk him on the head with it, and push him into a bath of running water. He would’ve liked _not_ to be constantly thinking of his cheating girlfriend, tossing and turning the wild emotions fighting in his head, trying to find space and settle like dust. Only they’re rampant and unyielding, angry and restless. Exhausting.

His phone screen lights up on the coffee table, catching Gon’s tired eyes. Tilting his head, he notices through the blur of sleep Jessie’s name displayed on the distorted picture of a fox cub he rescued a few months back. That’s the eighth call today. What would she possibly have to say? The damage is already done, there’s nothing to fix. Gon probably couldn’t stomach looking at her either way, whatever meal he had would’ve leaped straight out of his stomach and burned his esophagus either way, it’s still hurting from the last time he puked on the doormat. He never could get the stain out.

His eyes wander to the clock hanging above the fridge. 3:15pm. It’s a five hour drive up to Palm’s in Feather Deak, and she lives about a few yards away from Killua and Alluka’s apartment. He’d get there just as the party would end, it would be useless just showing up. And the next flight to Whale Island isn’t for another couple of days; the last was yesterday evening.

The screen goes dark. Gon’s eyes threaten to close when another call shakes him awake, though the name displayed isn’t Jessie. It’s Mito.

Gon clumsily reaches and accepts the call, cringing at the croak in his voice. “Mito?”

_“Gon! There you are. I’ve been trying to reach you since this morning. Where are you? Have you just woken up?”_

He swallows slowly, feeling his strength drip into the couch cushions. “Sorry, Aunt Mito. I missed the flight. I won’t be able to see you until New Year’s.”

_“...What’s happened?”_

Didn’t take long.

Hesitating, Gon chews on his lip. He takes a breath, lets the tears come, allows the floodgates to seep.

“She’s pregnant. It’s not–not mine.”

There’s a silence, then—

_“Oh, Gon…”_

He imagines the gears turning in her head, gently caressing each neighbouring cog with each smooth shoulder. Thinking how to be delicate about this situation, how to reassure but avoid giving false hope. Gon wants to be with her, wants to bury his face into the warmth of her chest and never emerge from hibernation. Mito’s scent is the remedy to most ailments.

_“When did you find out?”_

“Couple of weeks ago. She’s gone now. She won’t be coming back.”

And then he thinks of Killua; the gentle, deep musk of his body that rolls from underneath his chin, mingled with his shampoo; the tentative sweep of his hand following the shape of Gon’s skull.

“I–I don’t know what to do,” he sobs, bottom lip curling, ravines carving into his forehead as his brows pinch together, and eyes squeeze shut, forcing out fresh tears that roll freely down the red slopes of his cheeks, tucking into the folds of skin in his neck.

Mito croons out of the speaker, muttering quiet comforts into his ear, those same motions of her kissing his brow and holding him tight against her body, as if to stitch them together.

_“Have you mentioned this to Killua? Or Alluka?”_

“No, they’re having a party. I won’t make it in time.”

She sighs. _“It’s not too late, Gon. If you leave now you might be able to catch them.”_ She must know that he hesitates, because she does what mothers do best. Lift you up. _“It’ll be okay, I promise. You can’t sit there and mope the days away, Gon. Go see him. Things will sort themselves out.”_

The invitation becomes the focus of his eye again. _“And once Christmas is over, we’ll be able to see you, and you’ll be here and not there. Okay?”_

He nods weakly, sniffling. “Okay.”

_“We love you greatly. Drive safely, and Merry Christmas.”_

“Merry Christmas. Let Dan know I said sorry.”

Mito hangs up, and Gon’s left quietly sobbing away until he can get a hold of himself. He drags himself to his bedroom, slips on a fresh pair of casual clothes, snags his car keys from the key hook, the invitation, slips his trainers on, and darts for the car. Five seconds later piercing back into the flat to grab his jacket.

* * *

Gon stumbles out of the car, his joints stiff from the agonising drive up the highway, having only stopped once for a takeaway dinner. Snow continues to fall from the cloud-clogged night sky and Gon barely catches himself from slipping on a patch of black ice. He had to park out on the main street since the cul de sac was crowded with cars; just how many people had come to celebrate? 

Either way, it looks like he’s made it just in time; the lights are still on. If he squints he can see tinsel and fairy lights glowing and twinkling from the windows. They act as his guiding light through the light layer of snow and ice. By the time Gon reaches the front door and raps his knuckles against the mottled glass window slits, he feels he might be stranded on the veranda, assuming everybody must be partying in another room.

To his surprise, a figure arrives at the door and pulls it open, a rush of warmth blowing over his cheeks. It’s Palm, dressed in her finest do; a figure-hugging, sleeveless navy dress decorated with a snowflake dapple, mostly white along the bottom but gradients out in the ascent to the bust; a necklace of silver tinsel hangs around her neck; her hair, jet-black and dyed lavender at the tips, floats in waves down in front of her shoulders. Her cheeks are flushed with a pretty pink, no doubt from booze and a good time.

Surprised to see him, Palm’s thick eyelashes bat rapidly like paper fans, her upturned lips sinking somewhat. Now he only wishes he’d taken a shower and cleaned up a little as he sees her studying him.

“Gon! Wow, I thought you were going to see your aunt?” As if to catch herself short, she steps aside. “Come in, better late than never, eh? Here, take your jacket off, I bet you’re freezing. Don’t tell me you drove all the way up here in _this_ weather? Well. You’re here now, everyone’s in the other room.”

She steps back in her velvet high heels, slender, shaped legs lined with a light pair of black tights moving like a dancer’s against the oak floorboards. “Don’t mind me saying you look like shit,” she chuckles, though Gon can tell it’s forced. “Oh, Gon.” Palm pulls him into her, unexpectedly so, and her intoxicating perfume tempts him to sneeze. The warmth of the house is an alienating prickle on his hands.

“Sorry I’m late,” Gon pulls a loose smile. “Last minute decision. I’ll tell you later. Sorry about the...yeah. Wanted to get here before everyone left.”

Palm shakes her head, two sapphire earrings following the gentle sway, twinkling in the light. “Go wash your face and join us in the living room when you’re ready.” And with that she turns, touches his arm in good gesture and leaves him to find his way around her home.

Gon wipes his feet on the doormat before attempting to find the bathroom, that familiar tingle of nervousness flitting like butterfly kisses against the linings of his stomach, knowing Killua is here somewhere in this house. Laughter echoes from ahead, light glowing from inside an arched doorway down the wide hall. Palm’s house is big, comfortably big. She’s a lawyer, after all, and a good one at that. Gon’s not the least bit envious of her home. He’s content with the comfy confines of a flat, which reminded him of home.

The hallway is open plan, leading to a study on the left, to the right is the dining room, throbbing with candlelight. Right down to the bottom of the hall is the kitchen, the floors tiled with square stones, a little darker than the rest of the house. He pads past the big doorway where the noise emanates from; and not to his surprise, that’s where everyone is. Playing games. Gon scans over the heads of hair he recognises. Morel, Knuckle, Shoot, Knov, Bisky, Ikalgo, Canary, Amane, others he can’t recognise – Oh, there’s Alluka, and then there’s–

Killua.

Looking flawless as always, he never disappoints. His hair is a little shorter than the last time they spoke face-to-face; his eyes that same, deep royal-blue; skin so pale he could liken it to a sheet of finely-pressed paper; thin, pianist hands; the smile that has the ability to turn Gon’s insides to molten liquid. It’s good to see him smile like that.

The toilet is just next to the kitchen. Gon dips inside quickly in case anyone caught notice of him loitering in the hallway, flicking the switch. The light flickers, the bulb so blinding Gon has to squint for his eyes to adjust. The highway had been dark, incredibly dark. Gon watches his pupils shrink back from the caramel colour of his irises. They’re duller than usual. Tired.

If there was a way to stay hidden in the bathroom for the rest of whatever time there was left of the party, Gon would greatly do that. But the last thing he wants is scaring the living shit out of someone. Literally. Nobody wants to see a grubby man sitting on the toilet seat in the dark. So, as he’s rinsing his face off in the cool bite of the sink water, Gon psyches himself up. _It’s okay. At least you look a little more handsome than Ging with a stubble._

That seems to do the trick.

He takes a breath. In. Out. Takes the handle, pulls and flicks the switch again. Gon thinks he’s ready, but not apparently so when he realises there’s a shadow blocking the light coming from within the living room, a silhouette. Faintly, he sees blue eyes. His heart misses a couple beats.

“Gon?”

It’s Killua. It really is _Killua_. This isn’t a good time for Gon to be tearing up, but damn it all.

“Hey,” he smiles, a short exhale of a laugh leaving him. “I came after all.”

Before he knows it, Killua’s scent envelopes him, air pushed out of his lungs as the silver-haired man pounces on him, arms constricting and his heartbeat like a steam train running rampant against the rails. And that smell – that smell of home. _Ah. I wondered where that went._ But it’s here now, it’s hugging him tight and it won’t let go.

“Thought you’d never consider,” Killua barks out laughter as he pulls back. “What took you so long? Christ, you look like you’ve just gotten out of bed.” And just then it seems Killua’s taking him in – _all_ of him. Gon can see it in his face: _what the fuck happened to you?_

“Yeah. Last minute decision, I missed the flight. Sorry I look so bad, I promise I’ll tell you later. But...not right now.”

Killua nods slowly. Albeit Gon hadn’t been expecting such a warm welcome, he’s greatly relieved by it.

“You look really good,” Gon mutters, feeling himself warm up once realising the words have slipped. Killua lights up if only slightly, his control nevertheless outstanding when it comes to his embarrassment. But, really, Killua _does_ look good. He’s wearing a sheer button-down shirt, crimson, not at all Christmas themed but still gorgeous all the same; it hugs his lean figure nicely, complimented by his skinny jeans. He still loves those, huh. Gon doesn’t blame him, Killua’s got a stunning pair of legs.

“Uh, thanks? You look-”

“Like shit?”

They chuckle.

“Like you’ve suddenly become an alcoholic, which I hope you haven’t. I’ll trust that’s not the case, but whatever. That’s for later. C’mon, we’re playing Cards Against Humanity, you’ll be able to watch the final round.”

Killua, as swift as can be, takes Gon by the hand—how smooth and warm his palm is—and pulls him into the living area, where lots of heads swivel; grins pull; eyebrows fly; eyes blink. The guys are happy and are as equally surprised to see him. Alluka just about tackles him to the floor but manages to restrain herself before killing him with love. Gon insists on them continuing their game, conversation can happen later if they’ll be inquired to stay.

The game is taken by a sudden win from Canary, who appears to sweep the floor clean of her opponents with her ghastly humour, stealing away four extra prompt cards to her collection. Her reward is a kiss from Amane, her girlfriend of five years, under the mistletoe, though Amane kicks up a fuss about it (and eventually gives in). Morel and Ikalgo are left dumbfounded by Canary’s grand success.

It’s 8:43 and Palm reassures people can stay for another glass of wine if they wish, as Gon arrived fashionably late. Few excuse themselves and leave with a rosy smile and alcohol streaming through their veins, eggnog too, Gon thinks. There’s never a party without an eggnog-chugging challenge when Palm’s around (and she wins almost every time, as graceful as ever). The fancy gramophone is set to play smooth jazz music and romantic Christmas songs, including _Driving Home for Christmas,_ _Last Christmas_ , and _It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas_. Gon shovels down a full plate of leftover food warmed up in the oven, bits of stringy chicken, yorkshire pudding, parsnip, carrots and most of the veg people avoided (especially brussel sprouts), and his stomach is grateful for it by the time he downs a glass of diluted elderflower cordial.

Knuckle and Palm are slow-dancing in the living area, shuffling around the coffee table in front of the open fire. Alluka is kindly cleaning up upon offering. Gon and Killua are together in the dimly-lit dining room, stepping down into the conservatory. It’s dark with the exception of the golden fairy lights that hang from the bunting. He can’t help but feel a little claustrophobic with Killua next to him; Gon’s heart thumps a thousand miles per minute and fears it won’t pause to let him deescalate. He wonders what Killua’s thinking.

Then, Killua offers a hand to dance.

Gon stares pointedly at the gesture. “You know I have two left feet.”

Killua snorts, that pretty smirk shooting a warm tremble under Gon’s clothes. “Then I’ll let you stand on my toes instead.”

Well, who could say no?

Their hands clasp together, one resting on Gon’s hip, and Gon’s perching on Killua’s shoulder. The proximity is suffocatingly exhilarating; he hasn’t been this close to his ex-boyfriend in, well, almost two years. Not since he wept into Killua’s chest. He smells divine, that same homey musk that makes his skin tingle. 

It’s a little difficult to keep eye contact with Killua, Gon won’t lie. It’s taking him the world not to press their mouths together. It’s funny enough that Gon’s _taller_ than Killua, only by an inch or so at the most, but he can tell the difference still baffles the other man.

“So tell me,” Killua’s eyebrows arch and undulate. “What’s with the whole Ging wannabe getup? Did your boiler break down or what?”

Oh, right. That. Jessie.

It must be obvious how Gon’s face droops, he can see the concern cracking into the ice of Killua’s eyes, almost like a mirror reflection of himself. He chews his lip, lowers his eyes to that lovely v in Killua’s neck while his brain gathers the words.

“Yeah, haha. About that…” Their spinning slows, as if it wasn’t already a snail’s pace, and Gon becomes the one to keep the movement going. He needs to keep moving if he’s going to pour everything out. _Okay. Here goes._

“My girlfriend, well, _ex_ -girlfriend’s pregnant.” In just one raise of the brows, Gon sees the shock. “Yeah. Imagine that, huh? Finding out just before Christmas. Wild.”

Killua’s piecing together an answer, something not so patronising and something not too pitiful, Gon can tell. He watches him glue together fragments of possible answers.

“Fuck, Gon, that’s… That’s really fucked up. Sorry. That explains the…” Killua takes him in once more. Hell, Gon hadn’t noticed his untied shoelaces until now. Even his hair isn’t as limp as usual after emerging from a shower; it’s still sort of spiky, but the gel has hardened over the days he hasn’t been keeping up with basic hygiene. “Christ. It’s—it’s not yours?"

Gon smiles a bitter smile. “No. Not mine. Found the pregnancy test box in the trash, and uh, she was puking a lot.”

Silence settles in between them like freshly fallen snow, except for the slight ricochet of jazzy Christmas tunes coming from elsewhere, which is thankfully a little soothing.

“What do you need?” Killua says softly.

He’s only just noticed Killua’s grounding grip.

“I-” Gon sucks in a breath. “Killua, I don’t…” Here it comes, and what a speed it’s coming at. “Shit. I don’t know. I wanted to see you so badly. Mito called, I told her everything and, and she said to come see you. So I did, and I’m glad I did, because I don’t know what to do, Killua.”

Gon’s height comes crumbling down when he hunches into himself, burying his face into Killua’s neck. Killua’s swift to accommodate him, dropping their hands and enveloping Gon in his arms, running his hands up and down his back. His breath shudders and trembles and thick, hot, globing tears race down his face. He can’t let go of Killua. But Killua has him and that enables Gon’s weakened walls to collapse and welcome the gushing salt water.

“Is there something wrong with me? I don’t understand, I did everything, I tried to be better, I really tried. And, and it’s still not enough. _I’m_ not good enough. I miss you, I miss you so much.”

As one can guess, Gon doesn’t remember the next five minutes. All he can account for is Killua’s overwhelming scent, the gentle croon next to his ear, Killua raking his fingers into the knots in Gon’s untidy hair. It hurts, but the pain is good. He wants to feel it, experience _something_ . Because up until now, Gon hasn’t known _what_ to feel.

By the end of it they’re still swaying side to side, rotating with each little step. And in the cool, dim light of the conservatory, Gon wishes for time to stop.

❖❖❖

“Fucking wench,” Killua mutters.

He hasn’t seen Gon so _broken_ before, not like this. As if everything in their lifetime has been stacking and stacking and _stacking_ , until finally the pile gives into pressure and topples. This might be the thing that’s broken Gon, exceptionally more than Mito’s sudden bout of pneumonia two years back. By the time Gon had come to sort things out, he’d cleaned himself up, and yet this time he’s arrived looking as scruffy as his trash mammal father.

So really, in the two years they’ve spent apart trying to better themselves for another time, it appears Gon’s taken a step back rather than forward. Killua believes that Gon just met the wrong person to practice with. He wasn’t enough for one greedy woman.

“The fact that she’s _keeping_ it is an insult,” he says, though very aware that’s probably not the best thing to say around Gon right now. They’ve stopped dancing for now and are instead sitting side-by-side in the study. A nasty chill had manifested in the conservatory. “I’d wring her neck in my hands if I could.”

Gon manages a weak chuckle in between sniffles and hiccups. “Sounds like something you’d do.”

In the nick of time, Alluka steps in with two mugs of steaming hot chocolate. She’s worried. When it comes to Alluka, it’s easy to tell her mood; she wears it on her sleeve.

She snuggles in on the opposite side of Gon, taking his hand and swiping the back with her thumb. Gon passes a quiet compliment on the shade of her nail varnish. His sister never fails to enamor Killua with how compassionate she can be, how well she’s able to comfort and support in any time of need. It’s inspiring. He’s been trying to take notes.

“You’re staying with us, we won’t take no for an answer,” Alluka says firmly.

Killua rubs Gon’s back. “Then I’ll drive you back down to Borroux once we’ve cleaned you up. I want to see what shithole you’ve been living in for the past... God knows how long.”

Gon turns his head but not much, his eyes do most of the moving. A glimmer, a tiny, tiny sparkle flutters like candlelight in the deep caramel of his irises. It breaks Killua’s heart.

“Are you sure?”

“ _Of course_ I’m sure, blockhead,” he pinches his leg teasingly. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t. Trust me. I’ll get you back in shape. And if that weasel comes round, don’t stop me from grabbing the nearest knife.” Killua offers a reassuring smile and nudges their shoulders together. He’s missed this. There’s been this big, gaping hole where Gon once filled himself. To have him here again is really good. Ethereal.

* * *

Seeing Gon in the dark like that had given him a slight scare, but Killua felt he’d known whose that silhouette belonged to the second he spotted it lingering outside the bathroom. There was that undeniable throb, painful as it was, in his chest that burnt a line of petrol down into his gut and back up again into his head, giving him vertigo. He’d been hopeful that Gon would accept his invitation on Palm’s behalf, knowing he likely wouldn’t have accepted it had it been her name on the slip, but after thirty minutes of fruitless waiting, Killua gave up hope of seeing Gon.

Killua’s surprised at _himself_ for being able to evade injuring Gon, and Gon appeared happy to see him, a great relief, actually, to know he wanted to come but was hesitant to show his face. Killua understood the desire to keep each other at arm’s length. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to shorten that length now. With care and caution, obviously. He’s not _that_ desperate.

Naturally he doesn’t want to pity Gon at all, though it’s difficult when the man’s walking around his apartment like he’s having to drag his heart and soul behind him like a ball on a chain. The man can wash himself, shave himself (though Gon accidentally nicks himself with the razor and Killua jumps in to dab the blood away with some antiseptic stuff before Gon has a chance to crumble again). He feels Gon hasn’t been able to take care of himself in any case – the evidence walked right through the front door, for crying out loud.

Gon looks a lot healthier these past couple days. He’s certainly happier on the outside, no guessing as to his inner turmoil, however. Killua imagines fields of mud and slick and shit and wires when he thinks about stepping into Gon’s shoes. Not entirely a nice visual.

Now it’s time to drive all the way down to Borroux. Alluka isn’t coming with them despite the slight tantrum she threw, insisting she wanted to help clean the flat (assuming it’s a mess heap) and get Gon back in good spirits. He loves Alluka, much more than he loves himself, but Killua would at least like some time alone with Gon. Three is sometimes a crowd if you don’t have a good enough dynamic. They work pretty well as a three nevertheless. He just wants space. Zushi’s coming over to hang out with her whilst Killua is gone, anyway.

Although he’s unsure how long he’ll be away for. Broken souls tend to take longer to heal than when they shatter.

“Has she called you?” he asks as they creep down the highway, eyes on the road but turning his head that little bit to ensure Gon he’s still attentive. Killua’s not taking care of him just because they’re ex-partners, and not because it’s his job to pick up the pieces. He’s always done that willingly without question because it _was_ their way of working. Things are different now.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gon itch his chin. “Yeah. She left a lot of voice messages.”

“Block the number.”

There’s some hesitance from the passenger’s seat that rubs Killua the wrong way, makes that ugly colour glow in his gut, a horrible mix between chartreuse and scarlet. Gon eventually, slowly, scrolls through what Killua assumes are his contacts and blocks Jessie’s number.

_Good riddance._

Gon can do what he likes, Killua can’t mother-hen him all the time. Hesitance is the first step to something much worse than grief, and he’ll be damned if he allows Gon to go down that path. He won’t let him be desperate. He won’t let him ponder about what could have been, the _what if’s_. Killua might have gone down that road and come out a slightly stronger person, he can’t say the same for his friend.

Something sickly licks at his stomach. _Oh,_ he thinks _. I thought I’d gotten rid of you_ . He smothers the spark before it can find a way to fester and eat away at him. He will _not_ give into jealousy right now, two years down the line. All that is water under the bridge, and that’s where it’s going to stay.

The flat feels like an old acquaintance when they step through the gate and tread carefully up the steps, mindful of potential patches of black ice. Gon fumbles with the keys but before he lets them both inside, he looks over his shoulder, flashing a sympathetic smile.

“You might want to brace yourself.”

What Killua remembers is a tidy, well kept home. Comfortably small for one man, a crowd for a second lodger. Letters accumulate behind the door as Gon pushes it open and they step through. Killua double-takes and squints down at the mat. _Is that…_

As if Gon reads his mind, he speaks up, a tone of sheepish embarrassment behind a quiet chuckle. “Yeah, I tried to scrub it out but couldn’t get the stain to go.”

He doesn’t notice it at first but a minute inside, even with the door open, Killua realises the smell. Stench, rather. Sweat; sick; rotting bin waste; the after tang of beer; the _heat_ . _Holy shit._ He covers his nose and steps through the piles of clothes, shoes, and waste. Gon’s usually a passive clean-freak at best, but this is totally unlike him – this is the opposite end of the scale.

“Crack a window open,” Killua gestures. Gon hops around the mess like a frog leaping from rock to rock, catching the latch and thrusting the frame open. Killua does the same on the opposite side of the room. “Christ, Gon.”

He sidles down the hallway into Gon’s bedroom. Clothes are strewn across the unmade bed, pillows skewed and hanging from the mattress. Cups and dishes piled on his dresser. _If it’s been this bad, I don’t even want to think about what it was like when Mito fell ill._

“Alright,” Killua exhales. Gon pokes his head into the hallway. “This is how it goes: bag up the clothes and leave them by the door, we’ll take them down to the laundromat later. Then we clean up all the cans and shit, take out the trash, then wash all the dishes. I’ll strip your bed and hoover up. Sound good?”

He takes some amusement in Gon’s reaction, something between surprised and speechless. “Yeah.”

Killua looks around, searching for the stereo that’s buried somewhere amongst the filth, the one he bought for Gon’s 19th birthday. He spots it underneath the desk in a mess of wires and dirty socks.

* * *

“I followed her,” Gon says suddenly. The vagueness of it is like a knife slicing through air, sending a chill down Killua’s spine that spreads into his arms and leaves his hairs standing up.

“Try not to sound like a complete psychopath challenge,” Killua chides, but Gon isn’t amused. He’s staring at the clothes whirling round and round in the washing machine, almost as if the spinning is like its own vortex that’s sucking the life energy out of Gon. He shrugs. “Sorry.”

Shaking his head, Gon picks up where he left off.

“She drove to this house down by Violin Road. I think that’s where her guy is.” Killua decides to take the empty space beside Gon, shoulders brushing and knees knocking. Some of the rich, golden shine in Gon’s eyes return, to Killua’s relief.

“I didn’t know _what_ I went there to do. I was angry, I think. I was probably gonna beat the crap out of him. But then I just came to, you know? Like I’d blacked out. Then I just...ran. I ran until I couldn’t breathe anymore, then puked on the doormat. I sat down on the couch and saw your invitation, and decided to see you. I didn’t know what to do.”

It’s something Gon must have felt he needed to get out, despite how alarming it sounded at first, so Killua keeps his mouth shut and his ears open and his heart welcoming. While in the back of his head, he ponders why on earth Gon had very nearly resorted to violence. He doesn’t blame him – Killua would do the same if Gon had cheated; he’d knock his teeth out and shove his foot up his ass until it came out the other end (that’s only _if_ ). So, really, he understood.

“What brought this on?” he asks gently. The colour and animation quickly finds itself at home back on Gon’s face, his eyebrows tightening together and his lips pursing, as if really, _really_ thinking about it. Any more thinking and steam might pour out of his ears.

Gon rolls his shoulders. “Just felt like I had to tell you.”

The quiet settles in like dust particles, and Killua’s relieved when Gon finally speaks again. “I wanted to feel something, I think. Because for so long I haven’t known how to feel. Everything’s all numb, like when you go to the dentist to get a filling. It really hurt when I ran.”

“It must have done for it to make you spill your guts out. All over the doormat as well…”

He winces. “Yeah.” The hesitance drags out so obviously on Gon that it’s painful to sit and watch. Killua observes the way Gon's body deflates; his shoulders loosen and his spine slump forward. A little hint to the next topic. “Is this how you felt?”

Ah. There it is.

_There’s no getting around it, I suppose._

“Yeah,” Killua replies stiffly. He can see shades of blue and purple flit across Gon’s skin like mood lights cast out of bulbs with tissue paper filters on top, hues of regret and guilt. “Stop it. It’s water under the bridge now, I don’t want to see you pull that face. I’ll slap it off if I have to.”

A smile quivers into the seam of Gon’s contorted lips, amusement flitting across his caramel irises, and Killua knows he’s lightened the heavy load. He reaches into the gap of Gon’s legs to take his hand, tying their fingers in knots like ribbons of silk tied into bows, taking great satisfaction watching bright colour rush into his friend’s lightly-freckled cheeks, allowing them to stand out like constellations in the night sky. The Effect hasn’t worn off, then.

Playfully, Killua nudges him. “Should’ve called me. We could’ve gone together to beat him up. String up his balls on a tree and use ‘em for target practice.” They start to grin, a snort tumbles out of Gon and suddenly they’re rolling about with laughter. When the sound softens and the silence sings again, Gon rests his head on Killua’s shoulder. All is as it should be.

* * *

Killua double checked this morning; Gon has definitely gained weight. Which is good considering he’d been missing his happy fat from around his waist and hips. He remembered Gon showing up on Christmas Eve looking a few layers thinner than usual. A month later, he’s doing exceptionally well. They still drive up to Feather Deak every other week to spend time with Alluka and Zushi, mostly to make sure Alluka is doing okay without her big brother (she would be, she’s a big girl now).

There’s a gentle knock at the front door. Killua feels a groan crawl into the back of his mouth.

“Who is it?” Gon hollers from his room. 

Reluctantly peeling himself from the comforts of the couch, Killua slings his phone into the cushions and pads for the door, turning to look over his shoulder. Gon is peeking out the door, a towel hanging loosely by his hips, barely holding on. A fraction of movement and he might as well be buck fucking naked in the middle of the hallway.

Killua makes a lazy gesture with his hand. “Put some clothes on before I yank that thing off you!” He flashes a grin at the other man. Even probably ten metres apart and flirting like wild country people, it still gets a rise out of Gon. He scutters away behind the door, clutching onto the towel as if his life depended on it, bringing Killua to chuckle. The lock clicks snug and he finally sees to the door.

He’d at least been expecting a courier on the step flashing an awkward, painfully stretched smile. A look of: _please take my junk mail so I can keep my job_.

But of all things he never expects some random girl to be there, looking as if she recently shat a brick.

“Uh.” Killua arches an eyebrow, looking her over. Deep, rich brown tied back into a loose ponytail, a makeupless face littered with sore pimples, cracked lips glossed over with lip balm. Either she shat a brick or she _was_ the brick. Nevertheless, she was taken aback by his being there, so much so she actually blinks five times in a row. Killua takes some pride in that. _Surprise, bitch._ That only leaves room for assumption that this is Gon’s ex-girlfriend. The one and only.

He refrains the urge to look down at that oven of hers. Would there be a bump? There probably is one underneath all those layers of fabric. He’s never known any pregnant people up until now.

“Are you a friend of Gon’s?” Jessie’s eyes drink him in from head to toe and Killua makes damn sure to make a point about his anomaly-like presence, dropping a hip and leaning on the door somewhat, donning his best What The Fuck Are You Doing On Gon’s Doorstep, Bitch face.

Looking her up and down, his nose wrinkles. “Boyfriend, actually.” He watches as her surprise shifts to a look of total dread, the colour draining from her face completely. Absolute regret. She’s knocked on the Devil’s door still wearing her skewed Angel’s halo and her hands pressed flush together, hoping for forgiveness. In the most dramatic way possible to think, she’ll regret ever deciding to fuck over Gon for the Violin Road hillbilly freak. And most definitely regret coming back hoping to crawl up his ass again. Not on Killua’s watch.

“So, did you get bored of your fuckbuddy?” he says, Jessie blinks rapidly and frowns. “You’re keeping it, aren’t you?” 

Just in case she doesn’t get the memo, he nods down to her stomach. Jessie frames it in her hands as if she’d forgotten there wasn’t a baby growing inside her at this very moment.

“Yes, but-”

“Gon won’t be seeing you. Don’t come crying back here when your fuckbuddy gets bored of you. And, for the record, if _we_ can use condoms and avoid STDs, _you_ can use them and avoid getting knocked up. I pity the kid.”

The door slams shut in her face and Killua leans his weight—all of it—against it, releasing a breath he hadn’t known to be holding. Gon re-emerges from his room in those ripped khaki jeans of his, and an oversized coral and bubblegum-dyed shirt, taking some interest as he slumps into the couch.

“So? Who was it?”

Killua shakes his head. Better him not know. "Just a salesperson.”

He steals the seat beside Gon, nudging him with his shoulder to knock Gon out of his stupor and snatching the remote from him.

“What were they selling?” he asks.

A slow, wicked grin twitches into the corners of Killua’s mouth, one which he can’t control. He can’t help teasing Gon a little, leaning forward with a knowing glint in his eyes. Gon leans back but only just. “Condoms, would you believe.”

As quickly as he initiated, Killua leans back into the cushions, his feet finding a place on the coffee table, flicking through Netflix, enjoying the colour that has claimed Gon’s face. “What shall we watch? I’ll phone for a takeaway for dinner.”

❖❖❖

The day goes by at a snail’s pace. Soon enough, they’ve marathoned through a whole series of Castlevania and taking TV breaks as they please, one for dinner, one for a thirty minute stroll around the neighbourhood. By the end of it all, Gon is socially satisfied and exhausted, washing his face in the basin while Killua’s in the living room with his nose deep in a book (a crime, he’s noticed).

It appears the silver haired man is so invested in the story that he hasn’t noticed Gon lurking behind the couch, quietly observing him, making decisions. There’s a great source of comfort Killua naturally emanates that draws Gon in like a moth to a flame. This time, he’ll be confident.

Gon finds his way on top of Killua, crawling his way underneath the book. Killua has to elevate his arm a little more to accommodate his friend, and seems unbothered by the slight interruption. “You’re heavy,” he comments jokingly.

“You didn’t have to stay here with me, you know,” Gon muffles into his shirt, Killua’s warm, masculine scent sucking up into his nostrils every time he breathes. Fingers rake into his gelled hair, habitually so, and Gon feels his eyes flutter, his heart misses a beat. Grateful for the attention, but he wants Killua’s _full_ focus. All he’s rewarded with is a low, long hum, a little high pitched but that’s just the angle Killua’s head is tilted.

“Funny you’d think I’d sit there at home and let you wither away into a pile of ash.”

Killua’s eyes haven’t budged from the pages yet.

His best friend has been incredibly generous with his presence, reassurance and guidance over the past month or so. Incredibly giving. Gon feels guilty for stealing Killua away from Alluka. And it’s not like Jessie was any of Killua’s responsibility to clean up anyway. He just...insisted. The cost being a promise for Gon to get his shit together. But it’s been nice to have his best friend back again, like they used to be; inseparable. They might as well be stitched together.

“I wanted to say thanks, and that I’m really grateful for you.”

The book finally lowers. Those eyes are like giant, blue spotlights that makes part of Gon want to wince away, but most of him wanting to absorb every second of focus Killua blesses him with. Killua’s so exceptionally calm, he’s so different from his younger self, who used to flush bright crimson at a compliment. Now, he seems to drink it in and flip it over in his head; Gon can see the mechanics clicking. It makes him smile. It’s always fun to think of new ways to make him blush.

“Of course. What’s brought this on?” Killua says, placing the open book face-down on Gon’s back. “If you’re gonna get sentimental with me, then—”

“I want you to know, is all. You’ve really helped me and I appreciate it a lot.”

There’s a softness in Killua’s eyes that makes Gon’s organs ooze through his bones, the look he used to give him. This gentle, compassionate, vulnerable gaze that could turn anything to melted butter. Gon’s not seen this for a long time.

Then there’s the back side of a knuckle tracing his cheekbone, a featherlight touch that has his heart speeding up. Any faster and it might derail itself. Gon, flustered, digs his eyes into the soft cotton of Killua’s shirt and turns his head. Killua may look calm and collected and cool, but his heart beat is quick and feverous, a loud drum against Gon’s ear. That gives him _some_ satisfaction.

“You don’t even have to ask,” Killua finally says in a low chuckle, pinching Gon’s cheek. “We should go see a movie sometime instead of sitting here like slobs.”

The idea of that rouses the nest of butterflies in Gon’s stomach. They flap their wings aggressively against the walls, legs prying and sticking and tickling. He nods.

* * *

“Killua,” Gon snags the sleeve of his slightly oversized jacket. Killua halts mid-step. “Isn’t it illegal to bring in our own food?”

Killua blinks, his eyes twitching between Gon’s for a moment, and suddenly cracks his head back and releases the loudest bark of a laugh Gon’s ever heard. Something like a witch’s menacing cackle but more amused than cunning, like bells ringing, the good kind.

He recovers just enough to get out a reply, however desperately forced it is through fits of giggles. “No, you dumbass. How’d you come to _that_ conclusion?”

Gon can’t help but look down at the bag they brought with them; a small pack with two water bottles, bags of sweets for Killua’s sweet tooth, and salted popcorn for Gon. 

“I don’t know,” he traces his fingers along the zipper. “Last time I came here, I just bought a clear bag of everything and they told me I couldn’t bring them in.” Offering a light, careless shrug, Gon swings the pack onto his shoulder.

“Well that’s just bullshit. The shit they sell in the movie theatre is expensive as hell, and it isn’t even worth the price. Trust me, it’s far from illegal, Gon.”

Killua moves to tug Gon into the next line, swiftly paying for their seats—right at the back, of course—and shuffling into the dark, carpeted hall, massive posters of upcoming hits looming left and right. Killua pushes Room 5’s door open for Gon to step through. The lights are already out, the stairs illuminated by pastel orange LED lights. Gon goes first since his eyes adjust quickly. And as they step up the first few rows, something grabs his hand from behind. It’s Killua, whose pupils have blown up over the colour of his irises.

“Mind your step,” Gon says gently, earning a scoff.

“I’m not a damsel, Gon. Don’t expect me to trip and fall magically into your awaiting arms.”

It’s only a tease, but damn, Gon can’t lie that a part of him wishes for that to happen. He shakes such an image out of his brain. They shuffle into row H and slump into seats 23 and 24, Killua taking possession of the pack, yanking it open to select one of the goodies inside. His enthusiasm is most amusing to watch, and Gon wonders if sometimes Killua’s even remotely aware of how he behaves; it’s like for a little slither of time he’s wrapped up in his own little bubble.

It takes Gon a while to remember what movie they picked to watch. Well, it was Killua’s choice from the get-go. He has to squint to see, but the tickets say: _The Most Popular Girls in School_. Something between a comedy and...wait, no. Just a comedy. Killua’s already chortling next to him, stuffing his face with worm gummies.

_“I was never pregnant, Trisha.”_

_“Are... Are you sure?”_

_“Yes, I’m fucking sure.”_

_“I’m sorry but why the fuck is everybody yelling over here?”_

_“Oh, well I found this positive pregnancy test…”_

This is more absorbing than Gon first imagined. Now there are girls punching each other in the gut and a guy having a faceoff with an apparently huge piece of shit in the girls’ restroom. Had Gon been less as interested in the big screen, he would’ve noticed Killua gazing at him with those big, blue hues, swallowing him whole.

A warm touch wraps itself around his hand, smooth, slender digits sliding into the gaps of his fingers, buckling down a gentle squeeze on his knuckles. His heart skips more than just a few beats, it quite likely misses thirty seconds before it lapses into escalation, picking up heat and fire, sparks of electricity flying at the wheels and steam fuming from the driving rods. Heat quickly overwhelms Gon, filling, filling, _filling_ into every pore in his body. Every capillary comes alive, hyper aware. Every muscle in his figure clamps up unknowing what to do, how to move, how to react, whether to be relieved, happy, or guilty.

Gon’s ears pick up the crinkling of a bag, heat pulls into his right ear and teases his shoulder into hunching as if to be tickled. Hot, sugar tinged breath ghosts across his cheeks and his anxiety crumbles as Killua’s lips press next to his ear, white ringing rendering him temporarily deaf. The screen blurs out into moving shapes and colours, blobs of animation.

It feels like forever until Gon scrambles up the courage to turn his head. Then it’s just them, light flickering across their flesh, colours dancing in the peripherals of Killua’s eyes, up close like this it’s like watching a fireworks show. They flit down, he mirrors the gesture, their intentions crystal clear. 

Gon doesn’t remember who kisses first but he can tell all his tension falls from the high cliff it stands upon, no longer pulling tight the chords around his joints. All he can tell is the heat of Killua’s body, the near desperation of his mouth sucking on his lips, dancing his tongue into the seams of Gon’s mouth. Hearts full and weeping with excessive yearning.

They break away, breathless, lips glossed with their spit and pupils big and round, cheeks vibrant.

“Did this just turn into a date?” Gon whispers. 

He revels in the slow, sly smirk crawling into Killua’s features. He squeezes his hand.

“It sure did.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are again, haha. Another heartbreak fic (yay), seems I share something in common with Adele.
> 
> But otherwise, I hope you enjoyed reading this. It somewhat puts a happy ending to the previous fic. I'm sort of surprised I managed to finish this quicker than the Halloween story I have cooking up (or rather, burning) in Google docs rn, I think I'm happy with how it turned out. The most challenging element was writing in Gon's perspective and trying to convey his process through having being cheated on. Through the series, we never see inside of Gon's head, only his reactions (if I worded that correctly lol), so trying to show it with thoughts this time was difficult. Well, I hope I've done a decent job, at least.
> 
> Really REALLY big thank-you to Alex (StarlightHawke), Neko and Dan for the continuous support! And thank you to Kiwizoom, Quintessence, and Alex for beta-reading this long ass fic <3 Please check out Alex's ([StarlightHawke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightHawke)) work, they're an amazing writer and deserve a lot more recognition!


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